Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/616536.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape
  Additional Tags:
      Altered_Mental_States, Dark, Violence, Dubious_Consent, Submission,
      Rimming, Escapism, Loss_of_hope, Detention
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-31 Words: 2399
****** Recollection ******
by Charm
Summary
     It was only a matter of time, Harry knew, before he was consumed
     entirely, before he was a useless shell, no longer the Boy Who Lived,
     only the boy who was as good as dead.
Notes
     A remix of switchknife's 'Recollection', written for Novaculae.
     For switch, who was endlessly inspiring. Thanks to anise_anise,
     bowdlerized, and voldiespet for their awesome beta skills.
A terrified scream rent the air, and he looked down to his feet. The young girl
lay motionless, except for the fading rise and fall of her chest, her face pale
and frozen in horror. A shivering thrill ran up his spine, and his high-pitched
laughter echoed off the walls as he watched two of his Death Eaters drag her
limp body from the dimly lit room. She would be dead soon enough, but his loyal
servants would have their fun before her body grew cold. After all, she was
only a Muggle ...
Harry awoke with a start, bolting upright in his bed, his legs twisted
violently in his sheets. The dormitory was blurry around him and he reached
blindly to his left, seeking his glasses. Pushing them up onto the bridge of
his nose, the room swam into view and he felt his stomach lurch as the memory
of what he had just seen came rushing back to him. He took a deep, shuddering
breath and lay back down, wiping away the cold sweat that had gathered at his
brow.
The dreams were becoming more and more vivid as the weeks passed by. They had
ceased coming only at night, and had begun to plague him through the daylight
hours, making it hard to hear, see, and think in reality. Making it hard to
breathe.
Harry's classes had become nearly impossible to concentrate on. Potions, in
particular, was an exceptional sort of torture.
Harry's hands were slippery and clammy as the images from his dreams wracked
through him. The harder he tried to focus, the more difficult things became.
His slow progression toward idiocy was never missed by Snape, and Harry could
never escape the angry snarl that played across Snape's lips as he watched him
struggle. The angrier Snape got, the harder Harry's cock grew, starting the
whole vicious cycle all over again, and erasing any hope Harry had of escaping
potions without a detention.
His Sleeping Draught had congealed into a sickly green brown paste, while
beside him, Hermione's was a pale shade of shimmering turquoise, sliding
gracefully off of her ladle in ribbons.
Harry couldn't help but think that perhaps he should ask Pomfrey for some of
the draught for himself. But that would mean admitting the dreams were still
there, still pulling his mind into a horrible reality he would rather not know
existed. It would mean admitting defeat, and disappointing Dumbledore. Because
no matter what Harry did, no matter how hard he tried, it had become impossible
to keep Voldemort out, to keep him from invading his mind at any given moment.
Sirius had died. Any hope that Harry had held inside his heart, any will to
continue the fight against Voldemort, had died along with him.
Snape's voice broke into his thoughts, as only Snape's could, and Harry felt
his groin twitch in reaction. "Detention, Mr Potter. And 15 points from
Gryffindor for failing to follow instructions simple enough for a Muggle."
Malice shone in the Potions Master's eye as Harry made his way to Snape's desk
at the end of class. Harry glanced at the door as Snape pointed his wand toward
it and murmured a locking spell.
"Well, Mr Potter, you never fail to disappoint. One would think you enjoy these
detentions. That you--" Snape stood and slowly made his way around the desk
toward Harry, "look forward to them."
Harry's mind swam as Snape's hand trailed lightly across his cheek and,
stopping just below his scar, pushed his hair into place.
"Now, let me see, what shall your punishment be today?" Snape said to himself,
feigning a thoughtful expression.
"I -- I could scrub the cauldrons." Harry said hopefully, struggling to focus
as Snape rubbed the pad of his thumb in tiny circles across the lightning bolt
on Harry's forehead.
"The cauldrons have already been cleaned, Potter."
"Er--your potions ingredients --"
"Have already been properly catalogued and neatly put away." Snape's mouth was
now mere inches from Harry's ear. He could feel hot breath that smelled vaguely
of pepper and lime, coursing across his skin in languid waves. 
Harry fought back a moan as Snape's lips ghosted over his shivering skin. He
licked once, then again and whispered in Harry's ear, "I think perhaps we can
let this one slide--just this once."
And Harry wanted to run, wanted to be anywhere but here, trapped by anyone but
Snape. Because Snape wouldn't let this one slide, and Harry didn't think that
he could take this anymore. Didn't think it was worth it, even if Snape was the
only one who could make him feel, who could make him breathe. The wicked games
that Snape insisted on playing frightened Harry, slowly sipping away at his
soul until all he had left were his dreams. Dreams that weren't even dreams
anymore, haunting him even in his waking hours, tugging desperately at his
mind, threatening to consume him at any given moment.
"Please take off your robes, Harry." Snape's voice was calm, quiet, but there
was no mistaking that this was an order, not a request.
Harry obeyed and let his robe slide off his shoulders and pool around his feet.
He forced his fingers to push the buttons out through the fabric and slowly
untucked his shirt, sliding it from his body. He knew better than to hurry;
Snape liked to watch the slow progression of naked flesh.
"Over the desk, if you please." Snape's voice was sardonic, as though
challenging Harry to refuse him, to stop him. Harry simply leaned over the
desk, laying his head on his neatly folded hands, glancing idly at the potions
samples his classmates had turned in that very day.
He could hear the sound of Snape's voluminous robes slipping to the floor, and
it took nearly all of Harry's self-control not to cringe when he felt long
fingers skating down his back, lingering on his spine as he pressed him harder
into the desk. He complied and felt Snape's potions texts biting into his torso
uncomfortably.
"That's it Harry--apparently you can follow instructions, if properly
encouraged."
One of Snape's serpentine arms slid around Harry's waist and grasped his cock
firmly at the base. Slowly it stroked up, and the same thumb that had rubbed
his scar only moments before slid lightly across his slit, spreading the
precome that had begun to gather there. Horrified at the pleasure building
inside of him, Harry bit roughly into his lip. He knew better than to make
noise; Snape didn't like it when he made noise.
The hand around his cock pumped easily a few more times, and Harry found
himself leaning into the touch, wanting more, needing more. Snape's hand worked
him slowly, thoroughly, and Harry could feel his arousal beginning to pool deep
in his belly, his skin becoming slick with sweat.
Just when Harry was beginning to enjoy it, the hand was gone, as always, and
Snape's fingers trailed down Harry's leg before harshly raking his nails across
the smooth skin of his inner thigh. Harry clamped down harder on his lip to
quiet the scream that wanted to rip through him. There would be blood, there
always was with Snape, but Harry would have to heal his wounds later, when he
was alone.
His breathing was fast and sharp as Snape's hands spread firmly over the flesh
of his buttocks and he felt the man kneel behind him, his knees hitting the
backs of Harry's ankles. Snape said nothing as he delicately parted Harry's
cheeks and inhaled deeply. And that horrible feeling returned. Harry should not
be here. He should be out in the sunshine, by the lake, with his friends. He
should be anywhere but here, doing anything but these wicked deeds with his
professor.
His mind raced with possible ways to flee, to escape before Snape had a chance
to catch him. He wasn't paying attention, and when Snape's tongue deftly
breached his entrance, he cried out, both in frustration and pleasure.
Immediately Snape pulled back, standing, and grabbed Harry by the hair,
wrenching his head back so he could spit the words into his ear.
"How many times do you need to be told, Potter? I have warned you, another
mistake and you will regret it sorely." Harry nodded in compliance, and Snape
threw Harry's head forward and fell to his knees once again. He wasted no time
before delving deep into Harry, thrusting his tongue in and out until he found
what he was looking for and Harry lurched forward as sparks flew behind his
eyes.
Tears began to spill from Harry's eyes, useless and unwanted. There would be no
escape, Snape would always be there to find him, and he would never find a way
out. A way back to a normal life.
Snape pulled away, quietly muttering a lubrication charm and slid his index
finger in smoothly, easily finding that prized spot he had been searching for
with his tongue. Harry slid forward and back across Snape's desk, parchment
slipping off the side, quills dragging wet ink across the pages of open books,
as Snape massaged his prostate ruthlessly. His cock was full and hard, pushing
against the slightly rough grain of the wood, making him ache with the need to
have it all over and done with.
Snape added another finger and Harry started to push back against him, fucking
himself thoroughly on Snape's fingers, wanting more contact, more of this, as
long as he could hold onto this one lucid moment. This moment where he could
feel, before his memories were once again swept away and all he was left with
were the dreams.
And then his fingers were gone, replaced suddenly by a thick, blunt pressure.
Harry fought the urge to scramble away, to curse Snape to hell and back for
what he was doing to him. He fought everything that was telling him he didn't
want this, that it wasn't what he deserved. He slammed his hips back to meet
Snape and heard him moan in surprise and pleasure. After that there was no
turning back, not that there ever had been.
Snape began to thrust into him fast and hard, his hands coming to rest on
either side of Harry on the desk. Harry could feel Snape on top of him, heaving
and sweaty. Harry looked over his shoulder and met Snape's eyes, feeling a
shock of fear race through him. Snape's eyes were alight with a kind of feral
glow, his teeth bared, he looked like a wild animal that had finally caught its
prey.
"Touch yourself, come for me, Potter." Harry didn't leave himself time to
think, reaching down to fist his swollen erection in tandem with Snape's
motions. Both hand and cock scraped painfully against the edge of the desk, but
Harry was blind to everything but the pleasure coiling through his body. Snape
sped up and angled himself so that he hit Harry's prostate with every thrust of
his cock.
He slammed into Harry one last time, hard, forcing Harry up onto his tiptoes,
and Harry spilled hotly across his own hand, mouth hanging open, his silent
scream lost in the humid air of the dungeons. He felt Snape convulse and was
filled with his seed as the Potions Master milked every last drop into him.
Harry, breathing hard, began to stand a little, needing to stretch his legs. He
was abruptly slammed back down against the desk, his arms collapsing beneath
him.
"Did I say you could get up?" Snape demanded and kept one palm pressed against
Harry's back as his slick cock slid out of him.
Harry resisted a whimper at the loss, fought the compulsion to run, and waited
for Snape to tell him he could get up.
"Get up, Potter. Here." Snape threw a rag at him, "Clean yourself up."
Harry gingerly wiped away the semen that was spilling down over the back of his
left leg in a sticky wet trail. He stood up, finally, stretching his muscles
and placed the rag carefully on the edge of Snape's desk.
"Get dressed." Harry kept his eyes down, not wanting to see Snape's exposed
flesh as he dressed as well. Snape said nothing until he was done.
He looked over at Harry as he finished up the numerous buttons on his waistcoat
and smirked. "Not bad, Potter. Until next time I suppose." It wasn't a
question. His face twisted in an ugly sneer that Harry wanted nothing more than
to rip off. Instead he gave a small, defeated nod and, after Snape unwarded the
door, left quietly.
The sky was dusky through the dormitory window when Harry finally made it back.
Ron was on his bed having a game of Exploding Snap with Seamus and Dean, but
Harry ignored them and fell straight into his bed, exhausted.
"Alright, Harry? Snape wasn't too horrible, was he?" Ron asked. Harry merely
groaned in answer, barely able to hear over the blood rushing through his
veins, his pulse throbbing in his ears. He reached up, with his last ounce of
strength, and pulled the hangings shut around his bed. He didn't want to hear
Ron's concern or his reassurances, he didn't need them anymore, they meant
nothing.
As he curled up around his pillow, the rest of the world fell away, replaced by
dreams. The dreams that spilled so readily into his daily life. The dreams that
he could no longer hold at bay. Voldemort knew he was there, could feel his
presence, just as Harry could feel that of the Dark Lord. It was only a matter
of time, Harry knew, before he was consumed entirely, before he was a useless
shell, no longer the Boy Who Lived, only the boy who was as good as dead.
The dreams were all he had, all he was allowed, except for those fleeting
moments with Snape that he both needed and hated. Stolen moments where he could
forget everything but the cold touch of his potions-stained hands and the utter
freedom of submission.
Snape was the only one that could pull him away from the constant battle that
raged inside his mind, an epic battle between good and evil being played out
behind his eyes. But only because Harry was battling Snape for something that
mattered far more. His soul.
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